


A Tale as Old as Time

by JanaxIV



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanaxIV/pseuds/JanaxIV
Summary: A small story inspired by the end of Campaign one





	A Tale as Old as Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for the fandom, so I hope you enjoy it. It's only a small symbol of how much Critical Role means to me, and has helped me feel better since I found it.

Come children, and sit with me, for I shall tell you a story. For many it will sound like a fairytale, passed on from generations past, but I promise every word I speak is true. Oh no, no, don’t laugh dear, its many signs can be found all over this world after all!

If you travel to the great city of Emon, just outside its walls, you shall find a large keep. Nowadays, it is used as a school, for all those who wish to hone their skills, be it with weapons, words, or the wondrous ways of magic. Yet once, it was built by a king of the city, a gift to our heroes for saving him and his family from great danger, before freeing the town itself from evil beyond this plane.

Further in, underneath the high towers and fancy homes of the upper districts, burrowed beneath the castle itself lies a cavern, brimming with magic and fire unextinguishable even to this day. Here lay once, the lair of an ancient beast, wishing to rule all upon this world. Here the creature amassed its wealth. Here it fell, after fleeing death so many eons and changing far beyond its natural form.

Travel across the great bridge up north, and you will find yourself in Whitestone, once ravaged by beings of the night, plotting for a dark future of this world. Long has it been freed by our heroes, one of them whose heart was always bound to it.

Now the Suntree, blessed by the Dawnfather itself blooms anew, bringing joy to the city-folk. Listen to them, and they shall speak of a pair of kind and just rulers, long passed and buried, a pair well versed in politics, science and the art of making money. They might point you to a small bakery, hardly noticeable among the riches around it, founded by a Lady of Whitestone who with her friends helped restore her cities beauty.

Walk up towards the castle on the day of Winter’s Crest, and find there, a clock, made by a Lord of Whitestone, after he had cast away his regrets and anger, sworn to never create another weapon as the ones he used. On this day, you’ll see on the clock, displayed the story of his newfound family, his companions with which he found new reasons to live.

As we make our ways further north, we find the home of the Dragonborn, deep in the ravines. Their beautiful homes are build on the ruins of the once floating city of Draconia, where only the richest of them were welcome. Today there is no distinction anymore, between tailed or tailless, chromatic or metallic, as they live in a city, whose center is a large statue. The one it represents was called Tiberius Stormwind, and his path was joined with our heroes for a time. His pedestal reads, for the generations to come “I encourage peace.” and peaceful Draconia is.

Find yourselves outside the city and you will face a dragon’s skull, embedded in the now fertile earth. This ancient being once froze the lands here, now his bones are brittle, nothing more than a memory of its former glory. From the ribcage grow roots spanning far under the mountains, its canopy high, almost reaching the top of the cliffsides, an oak tree, infused with the magic of the fey. Its seed was the arrow that felled the beast, and it is revered by the dragonborn, as a symbol of strength.

Another grand tree, born from a seedling of the Suntree, resides in Zephra, home to the Ashari. It was planted and raised by a young leader of their tribe, the Voice of the Tempest, and inside its core she has found her rest, after helping her people into a new age of prosperity. With her rest the feather of a raven, symbol to a long lost love, taken too early from this world.

Amongst the temples of Vasselheim stands one of the Everlight, Serenrea. Inside you shall find a statue, small, but important, even among the temples glory. It shows the one who resurrected the building, brought back the faith of her goddess to the city. The woman you see there, crowned a saint by faithful ones, is one Pike Trickfoot, a gnome with a heart much bigger than her small stature may show.

Hanging over the whole city, colossal in its sheer size, stands the frozen body of a titan, born before the dawn of time itself, his arm raised as if to strike the temple of Bahamut. It stands here as a reminder of a great battle, which decided the fate of the world. Risen by a new god, sealed before he could realize his full power, those knowing its history bless the gods for sending their champions to aid mankind.

But...long before all these great symbols were left scattered across this world, our story begins with people one would not think heroic just yet. Come now with me, as we enter a settlement, named Stilben, surrounded by swamp…

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The stranger stayed for many days and nights, reading his story from an ancient tome. On the book’s spine, rubbed off almost completely, the name of a man who wrote it, a famous gnomen storyteller, who in his time had published many a book. It is said, that this one may have been his greatest work of all, some claiming, he himself had been part of the fantastical journey he describes.

“Those who witnessed this story have long since passed on from this world, joining each other again in the next. There are but two who remember meeting them...One is the ever vigilant hand, guarding An’kharel, the pearl of the far off desert, the memories bright spots in their ancient live. The other a Fey, having lived so long that his very being became interwoven with his homeplane. Who knows...maybe you might meet them one day. And maybe, just maybe...they might just tell you a story.”

Once the book closed, the stranger let out a sigh, smiling to his many listeners, carefully packing it away. “Now dear children, I will have to part ways with you. I have many places yet to visit, many more to teach of this epic tale. As such...fare you all well. May the gods be ever watchful over you and your families.”

Applause followed him, as he stepped into the slowly cooling air of the late evening, pulling a hood over his head, covering hair that looked like the leaves in fall, like chopper and fire. Glancing up, his eyes spotted a large raven, seemingly waiting for him in the crown of a nearby tree, just where it always was after his story time.

“I see, you still won´t let your eyes off me dear friend. But do not fear, I will not misuse the path you and your friends allowed me to have. I enjoy my freedom to travel into this beautiful world and, as you see, to share with the new generations, the tale you spun. Ah, but for now...shall we be off?”

Laughing the storyteller began to walk, leaving the city into the night, followed by his companion. One day, they might return again, to a new crowd, to tell their tale. For now...they disappeared. Walking away, as they always do.


End file.
